South Versus West
by clarinetgeek4
Summary: What happens when the South, aka Bluebell, Alabama, meets West, a simple teenager from Texas? What does Wade know about this mysterious Texan character? WARNING CONTAINS OC! Let me know if the character is Mary Sue, but plz no flames. Rated T for language
1. Chapter 1

South versus West, chapter 1

I came home, blowing a piece of my unruly dirt blonde hair upwards and out of my sweat-coated face. Work never bothered me much, but when a customer said something real rude-like, I'd have to kick his ass out of the ranch. Like, literally kick. I did it today, but the only problem was that it was the fifth time this month. Bruce said if it happened again, I'd be out of a job. That meant losing my paycheck for rent. If you're smart or even slightly dim-witted, you know that it ain't good! I sighed and threw my helmet on the table.

"Kali! Get your ass over here," my once again drunk mother called in from the living room. I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth as I made my way to her special room.

"Yes, Mama?" I asked patiently, but warily. She glared at me sourly and threw a beer bottle at my head. I ducked and dodged it, and kept my eyes level with hers. "Mama, what's wrong? Was it something I did?" I asked, keeping my voice level, even though I was pissed. Mama had promised earlier this month that she'd go through with rehab, and obviously that meant no alcohol.

"You goddamn good for anything child! My beer's away in the trash truck," she slurred, throwing a beer can at me this time. It didn't even make it far enough to the point where I could dodge it.

"Yes, Mama. But it's 'good for nothin', not good for 'anything', remember? Your beer is going to the dump. What happened to your rehab schedule?" I asked calmly. I noticed one of her beer bottles using colorful papers as a coaster. I swiped it off the table and scowled at what I was reading.

"Mama, are these resignation-" A beer bottle shattered once it hit my back. The copper color glass punctured my skin and the red juice of life seeped through my blue cotton T-shirt. I took a sharp intake of breath at the pinch and burning.

"It's my life, Charles! It's my life," she yelled throwing the T.V remote at me. I was so focused on the bloody gash on my lower back that I didn't see it coming. What really sucks about drunken people is that they're stronger when in the drunken state than when sober. It hit my cheek, hard enough to make me gasp. I twirled around, furious, and my calm façade was immediately broken.

"You know what? I tried to help you, Mama! I really did! But if you are too fucking busy feeling pity towards yourself, then FINE! DON'T COME RUNNING TO ME FOR BAIL MONEY, AND EXPECT ME TO HELP! NO MORE BROKEN PROMISES! WE'RE THROUGH," I screamed, turning on my heel and running.

I heard her get up, so I turned, hoping my rant had gotten to my real mom, the one who would read me stories, the one who helped me pick out the right traits in a good husband or boyfriend. But no. All I saw was her strong high boned face, splotchy with acne and bruises because she didn't even bother to take care of herself anymore. And boy was it pissed. She swung at me, hitting right above my left eye. I went down and squinted to see my mother staggering towards me in a drunken rage. Suddenly she stopped, swayed for a few seconds dazedly, and passed out onto the rug. I felt an over-whelming surge of relief and a tiny bit of guilt as I turned to leave. I paused for a moment, and then went over to my cell and dialed 911.

"Y'ello? Hi, I'm callin' from 7713 Metrom Street. A woman is passed out due to being drunk. I'm a neighbor and I found her like this. Please send her some help. Thank y'all so much," I said solemnly. I went over to my backpack and plucked up my mama's address book and searched for somewhere that was close and had people I knew.

I was growing frantic after finding six straight pages with names of her drinking buddies. Finally on the last page I saw a familiar last name, considering it's Mama's maiden name. Kinsella, Wade. Uncle Wade and Papa Earl lived in Alabama. I hadn't seen them since I was eight, but family is family, right? Everywhere else was close, but all had a bunch of scary drunks.

"Bluebell, Alabama it is then," I whispered to myself. I quickly took out my atlas (thank God for Social Studies) and looked for a direct route to Alabama from Acronam, Texas about 861 miles from me. Fuck, I'd have to hitch hike, or walk. Wasn't that against the law? The ever so familiar red and blue lights danced frantically outside my window. I grabbed my backpack and sprinted out the backdoor, light and nimble, and trying not to make a sound as I sprinted into the deep dark velvet blanket of night.  
_

A plop of rain hit my forehead, sending a cool shock of pleasure down my spine. I ended up hitch hiking up until Jackson, Mississippi, for which I was incredibly grateful. Ms. Fran was just a sweet old woman, in her mid sixties to early seventies. Her thinning gray hair was pulled back into a bun with curly stray bangs sticking out because of the humanity. Ms. Fran's body had the sturdiness and physique of toothpick. I swear, I could fit my silver anklet just around her thigh. But Ms. Fran had a fire to her, and could obviously kick ass if she needed to. How could I tell? Well, anyone who's got a rifle in their back seat to kill the snakes in her garden is officially badass, right?

The best part was that I didn't even have to do so much as stick my thumb out. I had been walking about 5 miles, and had finally made it out of the county. Unfortunately sidewalks don't last forever, so I was walking in the bike lane by the time I got out of town. Apparently I looked kind of conspicuous because she pulled over right away, mostly because of the sweatshirt's hood.

"Excuse me, doll? I'm terribly sorry if I be a prying, but why are you walking on your own? And after sundown? You look so downtrod, as if you hadn't eaten a decent meal in a month of Sundays. Are you an orphan?" the woman asked worryingly. I wanted to tell her back the fuck off and mind her own business but something stopped me. Maybe it was the old time scent of cinnamon mixed with vanilla wafting from her baby blue pick up, or the twinkle in her eye that let you know that she could be trusted in the big things, but still liked to play pranks once in a while. I personally think it was the addicting aroma of the greasy and hearty Burger King in the front seat. Either way, I ended up getting a ride from sweet old Fran. This was about a week ago, I would say.

Now I was walking and I had just passed the Louisiana border into Alabama. I smiled as I thought, "Only twenty-five more miles, only twenty-five more miles," and practically skipped in the bike lane, careful not to get run down by a biker who was actually using the bike lane for its intended purpose, like I had in Arcolla, Mississippi. I almost flipped the poor dude because I thought he was trying to attack me.

I guess you could say I'm a tad paranoid.

I smiled about how ridiculous that scenario was and how nothing out here could hurt me more than she could. I squinted as I saw bright beamer lights heading toward me at a reckless pace. I immediately crouched down as the truck flew right at me. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for impact, but it never came. I heard the squeal of the tiles.

"Oh my God. Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God! Why is it that I manage to hit something when I don't mean to?" a girl said worryingly. She crouch down next to me and touched my neck. I screeched and crawled away from here quickly.

"Wait! I was checking your pulse to see if you were ok! I thought I had hit you," the girl explained with a tone panic that had a tinge of relief. I took a deep breath, and let it out slowly.

"I ain't dead, miss. You didn't hit me, but you were WAY too damn close! Did you have one too many shots or somethin'?" I demanded, feeling anger surge through my veins. What kind of person drives like that? Then tries to act all sweet and innocent after almost claiming a person's life? She was taken aback, a bit offended.

"No! I'm just not used to driving trucks! I don't have my own car yet, so I have to use my friend's truck to get around! I was just coming back after working with a patient who almost drowned in the creek further up the road," she explained, sounding slightly angry and apologetic, which is kind of hard to do. I breathed deeply again before responding.

"Ok, that explains a hell of a lot. Trucks normally do take getting used to," I replied, starting to feel my shoulders untense a little.

"So enough about how I…um…nearly ran you over. What the heck is a girl your age doing on the road at four o'clock in the morning with a huge backpack?" she demanded, crossing her arms in front of her chest sassily. I don't know what it was about her, but her attitude just drove me up the wall. I glared at her, finally getting a full image. She was drop dead gorgeous. Her wavy chestnut hair cascaded down until mid shoulder, and her determined brown eyes were as deep and soulful as a good cup of coffee, full of different aromas that made up her spunky and slightly cocky attitude.

"That is none of your business, Ms…"

"Hart. Doctor Zoey Hart. And since I almost ran you over it is my business. So why are you out here without your parents?" she asked slyly, hoping if she used a different tone of voice I'd give in.

"Family," I replied shortly, even though it wasn't exactly what she asked. "I was going to Bluebell, a small town about 25 or so miles from here." Just as a heads-up, I was only telling her so she'd leave me alone. No other reason, ya hear?

"Wait. You actually know where Bluebell is? And that the town exists?" Zoey asked, a seemingly shocked face that kind of reminded me of a fish that you pull up from the lake with a hook in its mouth. Mouth slightly open, eyes wide, the whole shebang.

"Yeah. So now that I've told you, will you please be on your way and stop buggin' me?" I asked in annoyance. She looked at me, her dubious gaze meeting my slightly pissed off one. She shook her head firmly.

"No way. I live in Bluebell and I could give you a lift. Getting a ride has to be better than walking," she coerced. I shook my head.

"Thank you, but I have to refuse. Better if I just walk there alone." The doctor gazed at me skeptically. "By myself." Zoey didn't seem impressed. "On my own." She still wasn't cracking, her facial expression never changing. "SOLO!" I yelled, hoping I'd get her to back off.

"No chance. I may drive fast, but for the most part, I'm a safe driver. Where are you going in Bluebell?" she asked, turning her back to me. I huffed, sick of this conversation, and sick of her over confident attitude.

"Listen here, Doc. I was doing just fine until you almost ran me over. The least you can do is respect that I really don't want help," I snapped. She finally went silent, when another truck pulled up next to us.

"Doc! Why the hell aren't you on the road? Lavon got worried that you weren't back at the plantation yet, and sent me to check on you! You owe me for getting up at 4:00 in the mornin'," a deep and very ticked off voice yelled impatiently. My ears perked, recognizing that voice.

"What should I do? Should I tell him, or just walk there and break the news to him there? Ah hell, this isn't what was s'posed to happen," I rambled mentally. Unfortunately, I had no time to make a decision because of Uncle Wade's keen eyesight. Yes, it was none other than my uncle Wade Kinsella. Those of you that guessed, you get a cookie! Yay for your efforts!

"Who's the dude? Was he the patient that got an arrow stuck in his foot? He seems a lot younger than you said," Uncle Wade noticed.

"Um, I really don't know, but no, this isn't that idiot," Doc answered honestly. I smirked and opened my mouth to talk.

"She almost ran me over," I added in cheerfully. Wade glared at her as Zoey reddened and smiled sheepishly.

"Thanks for throwing me under the bus," she muttered spitefully in my direction. I smirked again, not that she could see it. How fitting, her choice of words.

"Anytime," I retorted cheerfully. Uncle Wade began lecturing Zoey about how she was stupid when it came to trucks, etc. If I made a break for it at my fastest, they'd be able to catch me, but it would take them a minute to get in the car and get out once they caught up with me.

I snuck backward, into the grassy rut that had only the road and woods as a border, I was doing fine until my back hit the trunk of one of the tall Willow Oaks. I yelped and felt the cut on my back. It was throbbing through my thick gray sweatshirt. I placed my hand over it, trying to numb the stinging. They both looked at me, worry and panic clear in both of their eyes in the dimly lit street lamp.

"Are you ok? Are you positive I didn't hit you?" the doctor asked worryingly.

"Dude! Don't worry. Doc here might be a bitch sometimes, but she good at what she does," Uncle Wade promised me. I broke out open laughter as Zoey slapped him in the arm. My eyes widened as I realized what I just did. My laugh was fairly, ok, REALLY distinctive. Uncle Wade's eyes widened too. He hesitiated, then pulled back my hood. My light brown eyes met his nearly identical ones.

"He he, hi Uncle Wade," I said half-heartedly. His expression didn't change. Aw, shit.


	2. Chapter 2

South Versus West, chapter 2

_**OMG! REVIEWS ALREADY? THANK YOU SO MUCH! I'm so glad that this really wasn't a waste of time, for the readers or me! But replies to my first reviews because you're that awesome!**_

_**AmandaSophia- Thank you! And I think this goes without saying, but it's definitely going to be funny. Or the situation will be at least.**_

_**Ali- Thank you! No need for the question mark, there's DEFINITELY going to be Zade in this fan fic, all right? **_

_**NOTE- I DON'T OWN HART OF DIXIE! IF I DID, ZOEY AND WADE WOULD BE MARRIED BY NOW!**_

Uncle Wade's expression didn't change. No signs of a smile, or even blinking! Just staring, as if I were an alien specimen that had been just dropped off at the Smithsonian. Finally, this Western chick had had enough of Uncle Wade's gaping expression.

"Uncle Wade, I'm pregnant," I deadpanned. His eyes widened, and he started speaking a trillion mile an hour.

"WHAT? Why isn't your mother helping you with this? She should be more helpful, especially since this was the age she had you! Who is he? Was it rape, 'cuz if it was I'm gonna kill that mother fucker! Oh my God," Uncle Wade finally moaned, pulling me close to his chest. I pushed him away, and punched him in the arm. "Ow! What was that for, crazy?" he griped, rubbing his bicep. I rolled my eyes.

"I only said that to get you to say something! Second, how the hell did you mistake me for a dude?" I seethed, glaring at my uncle, forgetting I was supposed to be begging him to let me live with him temporarily. He glared at me and it almost made me smile. It reminded me of those stupid arguments we had whenever I visited when I was younger. ("A lamp would totally be a better weapon during a zombie apocalypse!" "No, a sock with a rock inside would!" "No way in hell!")

"Oh, nice explanation. Real smooth," He claimed sarcastically, rubbing his eyes with one hand. He continued when I just shrugged. "But then why are you walking at 4:00 in the goddamn mornin' with nothing but a sweatshirt and a backpack?" he demanded, still shaken, but still doing a decent job at maintaining his composure. I looked away and stood on my toes to whisper in his ear.

"Look, I don't wanna talk about it with a total stranger here, but I'll tell you this- it has to do with Mama, and I don't think it's exactly safe for me to go back to Texas," I hissed, feeling tears well up in my eyes as I remembered the angel my mama once was, always smilin' and laughin', despite the fact we were strugglin'. He went silent for a moment.

"Um, I think we should just go. Doc! Do you need to follow me to get back to the plantation, or do you want to take the lead? Knowing you, you'll get lost or hit a third person," he snarked in a slightly teasing tone. Zoey rolled her eyes.

"I can get there just fine, Kinsella. Go help your, um, niece," she snapped, turning quickly on her heel and stalking back to her truck. I stifled a laugh at how he managed to infuriate her so quickly. I'd give anything to be able to do that with her, but it wouldn't work because Dr. Hart seemed immune to teenagers. Wade jut laughed silently under his breath, grabbed my hand, and led me to the front seat of his rusty red baby. He helped me up into the passenger's seat, and climbed in himself. The light turned on, and his gaping face was back, but was also mixed with panic.

"Oh my God, Kali," he breathed, brushing my bruised cheek with his tan calloused hand. I just sighed and looked at him with apologetic eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Uncle Wade. I tried to find someone else to go to, but you know Mama wouldn't let me contact my dad, even if she didn't burn his information. I looked for other people, but Mama's address book had no one but her drinking buddies, and most of them are worse than Mama," I apologized, shuddering at the thought of more drunks. He hugged me with one arm, looking at me with sincere eyes, the usual mischievous glint in them completely gone. I took that as an, "Apology accepted."

"Kali, how long has this been goin' on?" he asked, his tone of voice growing more serious with each passing second. I winced, knowing what was coming.

"The drinking problem has been going on since I was nine. The beating started just last year," I whispered. Uncle Wade slammed both of his fists on the steering wheel angrily, his facial features twisting into a gnarly glare.

"Goddamnit, Kalisandra! I know you haven't seen me in six years, but when I said call if you need something, I fucking meant it! I would have gotten your mama some help! I would have helped you pay for your house! I would have gotten your grandpa or even your Uncle Jesse involved," he lectured, clearly pissed off. I flinched back at his voice, and his gaze softened. "Why didn't you call, or even write?" I shook my head, trying to get the ringing out of my head.

"I thought I had it handled. I got a job back in Texas, and that plus the child support from my dad was good enough to pay for a house, and pay rent. I won a raffle, and I ended up getting 1000 dollars, and I used that to put Mama in rehab. I got home, and found out that Mama had resigned from the program and was back in her drinking habits. She was angry at me for getting rid of her beer, and well, you know the rest," I explained shakily, my hands clasped tightly in my lap.

"Damn it, Kali. Why the hell did you think you had it handled? When you're the kid of a drunk, nothin' is ever stable. Even when you think it's gettin' better, it's not. You deserve to be out with friends, having sleepover, prank callin' guys, or whatever it is you chicks do! Kali, you can't do everything," Uncle Wade lectured softly. I nodded, squinting my eyes shut at my still throbbing gash on my back.

"I'm sorry, Uncle Wade. And I know you're gettin' by as well, but please, can I stay with you for a while? I swear, I'll work, and split rent, and do whatever! Besides, it'll be only temporary, I promise," I babbled, immediately thinking that Uncle Wade was pissed enough to not take me in. He rolled his eyes.

"Man, Kali, are you really that dense? I wouldn't have even let you get in this car if I wasn't goin' to take you to my place," he said in shock and somewhat disdain. I blushed, shrugging.

"I don't know. Maybe," I retorted. He rolled his eyes again.

"C'mon, kid. Let's get you to my place, and see what we can do. If worse comes to worse, we'll have Doc fix you up. She's my neighbor," he explained as he started up his truck. I shook my head rapidly.

"Oh, nuh uh! She's a snob! City girl thinks she's better than everyone else. I'm not lettin' her near me! No way in the higher power, whatever that may be," I babbled, making an "X" motion with my arms. Uncle Wade chuckled dryly.

"Ah c'mon, Kali. She ain't that bad. Yeah, she's all those things, but she's smart, skillful, powerful, sweet, sexy," Uncle Wade listed, intending to go on. My ears perked up at the compliments and a wicked grin played upon my lips.

"Why, Uncle Wade, did you just call the local doctor hot and sweet?" I asked in a shocked tone, repressing a long line of snickers. In the din light of the stars and street lamps I could see his ears turning a strawberry hue.

"No! Why the hell would you think that?" he snapped, his voice faltering just a tiny bit. I snickered, not even bothering to try and hold it back. He slapped my lower back, trying to be playful in an older brother type of way. Instead, it stung like a million hoards of bees stinging that area at once. I whimpered, holding back the sob that was clawing to get out. Uncle Wade glanced at me, alarmed, and then pitiful.

"Your face isn't the only place Clora* got you, is it?" Uncle Wade asked sympathetically. Debating whether to lie to him, or not, I just sat there, looking straight ahead. "I'll take that as a 'Yes, Uncle Wade, you're right, and I'm just way too goddamned stubborn to admit it'," Uncle Wade decided with a small smirk. I turned away, but I could feel a small amused grin coming on. Maybe almost getting run over by a sort of bitch was a good thing.

_***Clora- Kali's mom's name. Is Latin, for "curly", and a popular name in the Southern region of the USA. Plz review and stuff, and if you're going to give me feedback, plz no cussing. Thank you!**_


	3. Chapter 3

South Versus West, chapter 3

_**OMG! MORE THAN TWO REVIEWS? THANK YOU SO MUCH! You guys are so awesome and thank you for bearing with me for Wade being a tad bit OOC. Sorry if its late, I had (ok HAVE) a bit of writer's block, so I apologize for the suckiness of this chapter DX. But without further ado, here's chapter 3! **_

_**NOTE- I DON'T OWN HART OF DIXIE! IF I DID, ZOEY AND WADE WOULD BE MARRIED BY NOW!**_

The cool early morning air was now beginning take effect, calming me down, and making every breath I took sharper, more energizing. The truck stopped, and I realized with a start that we were here. Actually here! I was still in a bit of a stupor, considering that Uncle Wade had agreed to let me stay, even going as far to say that I didn't have to help pay rent. He shook my shoulder gently. Irritated with not getting a response, he snapped his fingers under my nose.

"Sleeping Beauty! Wake up! I ain't gonna kiss you to get out of the truck," he laughed in a scornful tone. I stuck out my tongue, slightly annoyed and slightly comforted by his childish demeanor. He slammed his car door and went to open mine, but I beat him to it. I hopped down, and gave him a small smile.

"I ain't made of glass, Uncle Wade. I'm a big girl," I joked, pushing his shoulder lightly. He chuckled, putting his arm gently around my shoulder.

"Be that as it might, I'm a southern gentleman. I have show a little bit of class," he replied, all too innocently. I smirked, taking the opportunity to manipulate those words.

"You? A gentleman? Did a certain Zoey Hart put that into your mind? She must be somethin' different if she's got even you convinced to be somethin' you most definitely aren't," I replied, smirking at his red cheeks. The new goal while I was here in Bluebell, after stabilizing myself, of course, was to get him and that snob to go out on a date. That was it.

"Why are you bringin' Doc into this? She nearly ran you over, and now you're tryin' to make her the subject of every sentence. I think she's the one that brainwashed you," he countered, leading me towards his little abode. I shrugged, even though my cheeks were on fire.

His living room was kind of messy, but what could I expect? The guy was a bachelor, and working at a bar. He was enjoying the high life! I felt an enormous amount of guilt fall on my shoulders like a hurricane might the sea. Beer cans littered the floor, and dirty clothes were strewn across the room as if a tornado had just passed through. I didn't say nothin' 'bout it because I knew he'd be all noble and stuff, and deny it. I sat in a plush leather arm chair.

He stood in front of me, studying the damage she had caused. He touched my eyebrow gently and I winced as his hand gently caressed the purple bump. He looked at my cheek, which was in the same condition as my eye. He looked at me expectantly and nudged his head backward a little. I sat there, silently, but stubbornly refusing.

He breathed out a really over exaggerated sigh. "Kali. Take off your shirt, and your sweatshirt," he commanded, being overly patient. I shook my head, embarrassed and actually kind of scared to see what the gash looked like after being under a bunch of paper towels for a week and a half. Despite being his sometimes clueless self, he caught on to my cherry red cheeks. He rolled his eyes.

"Oh, for God's sake, Kali! I've seen you butt naked in the sink at least 20 times, and even forced to wash you, so take off the damn shirts already," he growled, running a hand through his hair. I hesitated before sighing in defeat, and complied to his demands. My bra straps were just about falling off my shoulders, due to the sagginess of my shoulders at that moment. He smirked.

"That wasn't so hard, now was it? But I've gotta admit- you definitely have some serious stuff goin' on upstairs," he commented smugly and then nonchalantly. I face-palmed, cheeks going to a fire red instead of a cherry red.

"Seriously, Uncle Wade? You're checkin' out your own niece's cleavage? What the hell is wrong with you?" I demanded, cheeks from fire red to blood red. I don't think there was any more level of red that my cheeks could go about that time. He chuckled again.

"It's fun seeing you get all flustered," he teased, flicking my head. I crossed my arms across my chest and pouted. "Turn." I did. His expression turned stony, but kind of amused at the same time. "Duct tape?" he asked incredulously.

"Duct tape fixes everything," I protested. It had fixed my bike tire, it could at least hold the paper towels in place. I yelped as he pulled it off all at once. I winced as I rubbed where my skin once was and was now on the duct tape.

"Duct tape and skin don't mix, Kali. I thought a big girl would've known that by now," he gloated. I glared at him.

"Are you oozin' for a bruisin', dude?" I snapped. He chuckled yet again. Chuckling seemed to be his trademark, apparently. He slid the paper towel off, stared at it for an excruciatingly long moment and face-palmed.

"Why the hell didn't you mention this in the car?" he demanded. I shrugged.

"It didn't seem important at the," I yawned, and stretched my arms up, enjoying the tightness, "Time." He sighed irritably.

"Well, I don't know anythin' 'bout cuts and shit, so I think we better call Zoey," he suggested, even though it was more like an order. I shook my head, refusing. I may have wanted them to get together, but not while she was around me! She was more annoying than kids throwin' rocks into a fan. It was even more annoying when you had to come and fix it, aka face it instead of putting your head under your pillow.

"No. I know you an' her have sexual tensions an' all that shit, but I ain't about to get lectured AGAIN by a know-it-all who really doesn't know it all," I denied. He glared at me.

"We do NOT have sexual tension, thank you very much. I don't really like her either, but she knows what she's doin'," he argued. I puffed out my chest, feeling bolder.

"No."

"Too late," he countered smugly, closing his cell phone. We waited for a couple seconds before a chime came from the cell. He scowled down at the phone as I struggled to contain my laughter. He stalked over to his guitar, picked up a cord and connected it to his amplifier. At the window, we could see a house turn off its lights.

"DAMN IT, WADE!" I laughed, gleeful that Zoey was pissed off and wouldn't be coming over here because she'd be too busy moping over no electricity. Wait, the door just opened at her place. A figure was striding quickly towards our own house. Was she…?

"You suck," I grumbled, plopping back down onto the leather chair. He laughed.

"Never underestimate the mastermind of a Kinsella, Kalisandra," he said smugly as the door burst open.

"Seriously, Wade? I was listening to the radio! What the hell did you need me for?" she snarled, practically stomping holes into the floor.

"We don't need you for anythin'. Good night, or mornin' or whatever the hell it is," I grumbled. She looked even more pissed off now that Uncle Wade had called her over for nothin'.

"Yes, we do. Stop bein' so goddamn difficult! Look, Doc, I know zilch about cuts and things of that kind, so could you oh so kindly take a look at Kali's back? I don't know what to make of it. Then you can go back to your precious Bruno Neptune, or whatever," he promised slowly. She glared at him.

"It's Bruno Mars, thank you very much. And I'll see what I can do," she sighed, as if this were a huge burden for her. I clenched my fists and glared at Uncle Wade, but he purposefully avoided my gaze. I sighed and turned for her to see the cut. She went quiet.

"Wade, back in my house is a brown bottle under the sink and a first aid kit. Go get it," she commanded authoritatively. She obviously liked to take charge. Uncle Wade didn't need to be told twice. He returned with both said items in hand and set them down. She poured the brown stuff onto a cotton ball and pounded it on to my cut.

"OW! Watch it, would ya?" I griped loudly, partly wanting to annoy and partly because it hurt like a bitch. Mostly the first one.

"Do you want the infection to spread, or no?" she retorted, pounding it yet again. I groaned. I had a feeling I wouldn't be sleeping on my back tonight.

_**So yeah. Please review and stuff. If you're going to flame, please refrain from cussing. Thank you! And thanks to all people reading this story! YOU GUYS ROCK!**_


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